It's the sixth time Briar's been arrested and he's getting tired of the process. "Empty your pockets," the guard tells him, so he does — two knives, a few sewing needles, a dried marigold, a rock. "That can't be all," the guard says, "you've been in here before." Briar sighs and nudges his sleeve sheaths to open. The pile on the ground doubles in height. The guard looks satisfied. The knife in Briar's boot can wait until later.